A Goldfish of His Own
by TenToo
Summary: [Set in tandem with "Stealing a Consulting Detective's Heart", starts during Chapter 13. There will be duplicated parts between stories, it's bound to happen.] Everyone else sees it as clear as day but Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes fought their attraction for quite some time. However, they can't fight it any longer and take a chance on each other. But, it's not easy.
1. First Date

Mycroft smoothed his tie and straightened his vest then checked his watch, 8:35. His date was five minutes late. Mycroft sighed. He began to drum his fingers on the table, glancing around the restaurant. It was French in theme and had come at the highest of recommendations from Lady Smallwood. The two had been talking quite a lot lately following the suicide of her husband and over matters of state; he wouldn't call them "pals" but he enjoyed her company. The decor in the restaurant was certainly pleasant to the eye, he had to admit. His gaze trailed over it, taking in the paintings on the walls, they stacked at least three high as the ceiling was very tall. The windows were massive, overlooking the Thames. It was quite nice and he would have to thank Lady Smallwood the next time he saw her. Mycroft's attention was captured by a couple seated near his table fairly easily. They were who he was paying attention to when Lestrade walked over.

"Mycroft." Lestrade said when he didn't notice him at first. Mycroft snapped out of his deductions and stood clumsily, hitting the table. Lestrade stifled a laugh with a cough; Mycroft was normally so coordinated and put together. There was something about Gregory Lestrade that made Mycroft lose his usual military-like demeanor and succumb to the normalcy of what others felt. He became ordinary around Lestrade — it was a new experience for him.

"You're late, Lestrade." Mycroft said, frowning.

"Well Molly didn't like the idea of Detective Inspector Jones protecting her while I'm here." He replied, pulling out his chair. He sat down and Mycroft did the same.

"Adequate excuse, I suppose." Mycroft said smugly.

Lestrade just rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "This is quite the fancy restaurant."

Mycroft looked around, smiling at the now familiar artwork. "Yes, it is."

"Is there a reason you chose this one?"

"Lady Smallwood recommended it." Lestrade gave him a blank stare. "She's in Parliament, Lestrade. Surely you should know that."

"Of course I don't." Lestrade said with a small laugh. "And are we not at that point where you can call me Greg? This is a date, is it not?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. "Erm, yes, I suppose I _could_ call you 'Greg'," he made a face, "but I feel strange doing so."

Lestrade leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, joining his hands together and resting his head on them. He looked at Mycroft sadly. "And why do you feel strange?"

"Because this whole experience is strange for me, Lestrade. This date, this night, us. This is not something that I normally do. Calling you 'Greg' rather than Lestrade would change the whole dynamic of what I am used to and what I am comfortable with!"

Thankfully, the waiter came and Mycroft ordered them a bottle of wine, hoping to take the edge off of the evening, an edge that he himself had just caused. Lestrade was looking at the couple that Mycroft had been observing when he had walked in.

"He's going to propose." Mycroft said, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Lestrade glanced back at him for a second; Mycroft could tell that he was upset. "And how do you know that, Mr. Holmes?"

_Mr. Holmes? I suppose I deserve that._ "He had been touching his breast pocket all night as if to make sure that something very important is still there. His suit is nice but well-worn, suggesting that he only has the one nice suit that he wears for every occasion that calls for one. He has saved up for this restaurant, it's a special affair. His hands are sweaty as are his temples. He's nervous. Ergo, he's proposing."

"You damn Holmeses and your bloody deductions. Must you always show off?" Lestrade asked. He hated to admit that he was always impressed by the Holmes brothers and their abilities. He sighed and examined the couple for himself. He noted, "He must have saved a fortune for that bottle of wine. That one is expensive."

"That he didn't have to save for. I sent that over myself." Mycroft said, not looking at Lestrade.

Lestrade looked at him, surprised. "You sent it over? Why?"

Mycroft's gaze settled on him. "Because, Gregory, people deserve nice things on one of the most important days of their lives."

After that, the night began to go a bit smoother. Mycroft and Lestrade found themselves laughing and smiling at each other over the copious amounts of wine they consumed. Lestrade had never seen Mycroft laugh like this. He was always so serious. Lestrade had been surprised when Mycroft had asked him out. He himself had been working up the courage to ask the elder Holmes brother out for months but he just couldn't. Maybe it had been Sherlock. He didn't want to upset the person he turned to to solve the cases that he couldn't. And then Moriarty had come back and he had found another excuse not to do it. But then John had been stabbed and Sherlock ran away; and the two found themselves searching for the younger Holmes together. But, Lestrade had put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder in the car and the look that he got told him that Mycroft wasn't interested. That was what he thought until Molly had asked why Mycroft was truly there when Sherlock came to beg for Molly's forgiveness. Mycroft didn't get that upset over things he didn't truly care about. That was when Lestrade knew that Mycroft had feelings for him and, certainly, Mycroft asking him on a date had confirmed it.

"Greg?" Mycroft asked, having received his card from the waiter after paying the check. Lestrade had zoned out for several minutes, but Mycroft hadn't minded. He was quite adorable when he was thinking. But, it was time to leave.

"Hmm?" Lestrade asked, snapping out of his reverie.

"Would you mind accompanying me to the car?" Mycroft asked, standing. Lestrade nodded and did the same. They walked out in silence and Mycroft held the door of the car for Lestrade. As the car took off, Lestrade said, "Thank you for tonight, Mycroft. I've had a wonderful time."

"The pleasure is all mine, Gregory." Mycroft said, smiling.

"Why now?" Lestrade asked, curious.

"I have my reasons." Mycroft replied, looking out the window. Lestrade wouldn't like the reason why he asked him out this specific night. "I have wanted to do this for some time now. Although, matters of the state have kept me busy recently then there was the business with Sherlock. I apologize for the look I gave you in the car on the way to rescue him from the drug den. I hope you didn't take offense to that. That was not my intention; I was simply trying not to let my emotions get the better of me. Sherlock…" Mycroft paused, not knowing how to describe how he felt about his own brother. "If I had lost him that day, I don't know what I would have done."

Lestrade smiled and placed his hand on Mycroft's, relieved that he didn't pull away as he did last time. They had reached Lestrade's apartment building and the two exited the car, which would wait for Mycroft's return. They walked up to his flat, chatting about dinner. Lestrade stopped dead when he didn't find Detective Inspector Jones in the hallway.

"I gave him explicit orders to stay put!" He said, unlocking the door to his flat. He charged in; Mycroft following slowly, knowing full well what he was to find — well, not find.

Lestrade was searching every room like a madman. "Molly!" He walked back out into the sitting room where Mycroft had taken residence on the couch. "Where is she?"

"How am I to know?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course you know. You know everything!" Lestrade yelled.

Mycroft sighed. "She's with Sherlock."

Lestrade was livid. "Ah, that's why tonight." He shook his head and laughed. "Unbelievable, Mycroft. Absolutely unbelievable!"

"I was going to ask you out anyway, Gregory. Sherlock just needed help with tonight. He's been planning this, it's all quite romantic. You know him, it's quite out of character. He loves Ms. Hooper. Let them be."

"Take me to them. He doesn't deserve her and he's not hurting her again. I don't trust him and Molly's too good to be stuck in an abuse relationship with a drug addict!" Lestrade said, striding out of the door.


	2. Lestrade Isn't Happy With Anyone

**(read Chapter 16 of _Stealing a Consulting Detective's Heart _to find out what Mycroft and Molly talked about)**

"Where could they have gone?" Lestrade said, pacing the sidewalk in front of the Marylebone Road fish shop. It was completely dark, the owner had extinguished all of the candles and closed up.

"Gregory, if you use at least one brain cell, you will figure this out within the minute." Mycroft said, bored. He peered in the shop window, smiling at the final setup of his brother's date. He had conversed with Sherlock on the matter at length and was pleased with how it had turned out. Someone should phone their parents and alert them to how domestic their sons were becoming.

Mycroft looked back at Lestrade when he heard heavy footfalls on the pavement; he saw Lestrade running toward Baker Street. Mycroft just rolled his eyes and shouted after him, "Wait for me, Gregory. I'm not running in these shoes!"

Lestrade stopped and was visibly antsy as he waited for Mycroft to catch up. They adopted a quick pace as they walked the several blocks to 221B. Lestrade banged on the door, not caring if he woke the neighbors. A very tired, yet alert Mrs. Hudson answered. Lestrade brushed past her without a word.

"Now, hold up, Greg!" She shouted after him. Mycroft hurried up the stairs, at Mrs. Hudson's heels. She grabbed Lestrade's arm just as he burst through the door to Sherlock's flat. "You really don't want to go in there!"

"I would listen to her, Greg!" Mycroft said, rushing after Lestrade, who had broke free of Mrs. Hudson's grasp and was barreling toward Sherlock's bedroom door. He burst through and found himself wishing that he had at least knocked.

"Molly…_oh_." He muttered, blushing profusely. _So she's already forgiven him._

An out-of-breath Sherlock said, over his shoulder, "It's good to see you too, Lestrade. Now, kindly leave."

Lestrade stood his ground, but only for a moment. He looked Molly in the eye and frowned at her. "I'll be out here. We need to talk." He shut the door, glad that he managed not to slam it. He walked back out to the sitting room where a very disapproving Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson were waiting.

"Honestly, Greg, what did you expect to find in there?" Mycroft said, giving him the look he often gave Sherlock when he was acting childish.

Lestrade shot him a look. "I wouldn't have found that…that _situation_ in there is you hadn't snuck me out the apartment to allow Sherlock to whisk Molly out on a date so that he could manipulate her into forgiving him!"

Mrs. Hudson walked quietly toward the door and muttered, "I'll just leave you boys to talk."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft called after her.

Lestrade now stood directly in front of him, awaiting an explanation of some sort. When he receive nothing but a blank stare, he said, "You know, I thought that you actually liked me. But it looks like you only used me."

Mycroft sighed and leaned closer to Lestrade, who became instantaneously uncomfortable. "We will discuss this later. But I can guarantee that that was not my intention. Not in the slightest." He placed his hands on Lestrade's shoulders and steered him into Sherlock's chair. "Now, prepare your words, as they will be coming out of that room in three, two, one."

The door opened, Molly and Sherlock walked out. Lestrade's eyes narrowed at Sherlock after seeing Molly in Sherlock's dressing gown. They approached him and Mycroft, Molly seemed to be dragging her feet. Sherlock motioned for her to sit down and she did immediately which only pissed Lestrade off more. But Lestrade bit his lip and let that go.

"So I'm guessing the date didn't go well?" Sherlock asked Mycroft.

"On the contrary, brother mine. I thought it went quite well." His brother replied.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Then why are you here? Should you not be engaging in similar acts to what Molly and I were just partaking in then?"

"Not everyone fucks on the first date, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, giving Sherlock a blank stare. Molly choked out a giggle, having never heard Mycroft use such a vulgar expression.

"Did you at least get a kiss out of it?" Sherlock asked, keeping his eyebrow raised.

"I might have, had you returned Molly at a reasonable hour like you were supposed to." Mycroft replied.

"ENOUGH!" Lestrade yelled, sick of their banter. He got everyone's attention with that one loud word. "_Now_, Molly, what the hell are you thinking?"

"Greg…" Sherlock began.

"SHUP UP, SHERLOCK!" Lestrade yelled, his eyes shooting venom at the man. Sherlock stilled and placed his hands behind his back. He assumed a blank stare concentrated on the wall behind Mycroft's head until Lestrade had said all he wanted, not uttering a word. Lestrade dropped his glare and looked at Molly with nothing but care in his eyes. "Molly, what are you doing?"

"What are you doing, Greg?" She replied, quietly.

He hadn't been prepared for that question. "Molly, you can't forgive him. Do you remember what he did to you?"

"Yes, Greg, I do. Why do you care so much though? I didn't happen to you!" She replied, getting flustered.

"But it did. You don't think that these things affect your friends, but they do! I sure remember you coming to my apartment, crying just after the ambulance took him away. How do you think that made me feel? I was pissed. I wanted to kill him. He hurt you when he was supposed to be protecting you from someone supposedly more dangerous." These words flowed out of Lestrade faster than he knew possible. He broke his intense focus on Molly to glance up at Sherlock, who looked to be in pain. He turned back to Molly and found that she was reduced to tears. "Oh, don't cry, Molly."

Lestrade left his chair and walked toward her. He crouched down in front of her chair and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I need to make sure that you were okay and that you're not making any decisions for the wrong reasons or being forced into any decisions. You have no idea how worried I was when I found my apartment empty tonight. I thought…well, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Honestly, I think that he rushed us away solely because he didn't want to have to give me a goodnight kiss." Mycroft said, cheekily in hopes of lightening the mood.

Molly laughed through her tears. "Hopefully you'll still get one."

"Not likely, I'm still very upset with him." Lestrade said, glancing back at his date.

"May I speak with Lestrade alone?" Sherlock blurted out. The three of them looked at him. Lestrade nodded and Mycroft said, "Come, Molly, let us see if Mrs. Hudson is still awake."

The two exited and Lestrade sat back in the chair, expecting Sherlock to take a seat as well. He, however, remained standing with his hands placed on his lower back.

"What is it, Sherlock?" Lestrade said, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't want to look at Sherlock but he didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Sherlock would think him weak if he didn't make eye contact.

"Listen, Greg, I know you think I'm some psychopath but…"

"I swear, if this is that 'I'm a high functioning sociopath' shit again…"  
"Maybe you should let me finish." Sherlock said, holding up a hand to silence him. "As I was saying, I'm not a psychopath as you likely think. I had a moment of weakness and Molly got hurt. If my mind is not occupied with something stimulating, like a case or something similar, I go a little crazy. I turn to drugs to dull that all. In this case, I did it because I was hurt." Sherlock said, quietly, his eyes never leaving Lestrade's. "Now, this I propose to you, if you keep me occupied with interesting cases and the promise that you will assist in the capture of Moriarty, I can assure you that Molly will never be hurt on my watch again."

"I can't promise there will always be interesting cases, Sherlock. How could I promise such a thing?" Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The least you can promise me is that when an intellectually challenging case comes along, you contact me immediately. I can't handle being bored."

"I will. But take up a damn hobby! Start boxing again! Do something else to entertain yourself too, Sherlock." Lestrade stood up. "Just don't hurt Molly, or I swear I will beat you so even Mycroft won't be able to recognize you."

"That would be extremely ambitious of you, Greg, and honestly, I don't think that you have it in you…"

Lestrade's arm cocked back and Sherlock didn't even see the punch come. He wasn't aware of it until Lestrade's fist collided with his lip. Sherlock spun sideways but caught himself on the chair. He coughed once then ran the back of his hand over his lip, watching as blood smeared on his skin. Sherlock regained his composure and stood to his full height again.

Lestrade placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I know your record, I know that you've beaten other men to pulps; I know that you are an accomplished fighter. It takes a man who truly understands that he's done wrong to take a punch without defending himself when he definitely could, in probably twenty different ways."

"Thirty-two in this scenario." Sherlock corrected.

"Shut up." Lestrade said through clenched teeth. Sherlock just nodded. "I'm leaving now, but remember my warning. I'm more than willing to punch you again."

Lestrade started to leave the room but Sherlock's deep voice made him stop at the door, "You know, Mycroft does like you. I forced him into picking tonight but he truly was going to ask you out by the end of the week. Don't be too hard on him. He's not one for sentiment; at least he wasn't until you came along."

Lestrade thought to say something but he didn't. He just left, letting the door to 221B slam shut behind him.


	3. The Hoopers Admire Lestrade

**To be read as a companion to Chapter 18 of _Stealing a Consulting Detective's Heart._**

* * *

Lestrade had only made it halfway down Baker Street when Mycroft caught up to him. He looked at the man and said, "Did you just run in those shoes?"

"Would you have stopped had I called out to you?" Mycroft asked, falling into stride next to the officer.

"No."

"Then I had to run to catch you, didn't I?" Lestrade just shrugged it off and turned away from Mycroft, but the man was persistent. He asked, "Did you harm my brother?"

"He had it coming." Lestrade replied, staring ahead of them.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, I suppose he did." He thought for a moment. "Is he upset with you?"

"Surprisingly not." Lestrade said, almost smugly.

"Are you mad at him?" Mycroft asked, raising a hand to hail a cab. One came up immediately.

"I'm not sure." Lestrade admitted as he opened the door to the cab and entered it. Mycroft entered behind him and shut the door. Lestrade told the cabbie to take them to his apartment on South Lambeth. It was at least a fifteen minute ride, plenty of time for Mycroft to talk.

"Molly had a lot to say about Sherlock in Mrs. Hudson's flat." Mycroft said, conversationally.

"And...?" Lestrade asked, staring out the window.

"Well," Mycroft began. "She told us how she had helped Sherlock get through his first few months away after faking his death."

"How? I thought she had just helped him fake his death them had no contact with him?" Lestrade turned his body halfway toward him, interested in it.

"They wrote to each other during the first eight months of his self-exile." Mycroft began. "Sherlock, apparently, was sweet and scared. Ms. Hooper offered him words of encouragement. She could tell that he loved her. The letters showed a different side to him. He wasn't the Sherlock that you know, nor the Sherlock that know. He was caring, passionate, and affectionate. She said that she's never seen this side of him prior to the letters. She's seen it since."

"When did this writing occur?" Lestrade asked, frowning.

"During the first eight months of his exile, like I side." Mycroft repeated, sighing. "Why does it matter?"

Lestrade continued to frown. "Because we were sleeping together then."

Mycroft's face was etched with surprise. "You were with Ms. Hooper? For how long?"

"We slept together a several...erm, dozen times between Christmas 2010 and about 3 months into Sherlock's exile - until she met Tom."

"Several dozen? My, Gregory, when were you going to tell me?" Mycroft asked, his voice a monotone.

Lestrade's tone was harsh when he said, "And what do I owe you? You've done nothing but lie to me. You know, I thought I liked you, Mycroft, I really did. But, I just don't see the point."

Mycroft actually looked hurt; Lestrade didn't think that he was capable of that feeling. He was a Holmes after-all - they didn't have feelings like this. "If that's how you feel..." Mycroft said, his nose turned up in the air.

"Yes, it is." Lestrade said, glaring at Holmes.

"Pull over, please." Mycroft said to the cabbie. The car slowed and pulled to the curb. He gave the cabbie enough for the entire cab ride then opened the door. "Goodbye, Gregory."

"Goodbye, Mycroft. Tell Molly that I'm not cross with her." Lestrade called after him before he shut the door behind him.

"Still to South Lambeth, sir?" The cabbie said.

Lestrade thought about it for a moment then answered, "Yes."

* * *

Lestrade woke up in the morning, still livid over his conversation with Mycroft. It was a day off for him, but he still went through the motions of getting ready for work; he was on autopilot, lost to his thoughts. He had just showered and was piling eggs on a plate for breakfast when there was a knock on the door. He had a towel around his waist and was otherwise naked but he answered the door anyway, not even thinking about it.

In the hallway stood Molly Hooper and another woman. "Greg!" She said, shocked at his appearance.

"Molly and...um." He said, looking at the older woman.

"Eleanor Hooper. You must be Greg Lestrade." She said, offering him her hand. He shook it and used his other hand to hold his towel firmly around his waist. "I've heard a lot about you."

Molly glared at her mother, who was clearly checking Lestrade out. She sighed and looked back at Lestrade, staring for a second then meeting his eyes. It was obvious that he had seen that movement. She blushed and said, "Greg, I'm here to get my things."

"Ah, moving back in with Sherlock?" He asked, stepping aside to let them in. Eleanor Hooper was carrying a small cage. She set it down on the floor as he shut the door. Molly couldn't help but admire his physique, she found herself biting her lip. He caught her staring at him and he raised his eyebrow. She blushed a deep red and looked away. Mrs. Hooper opened the cage and Lestrade approached. Toby strutted out and Lestrade's face lit up. He crouched down next to Toby, making sure that his towel was still secure around his waist. "Hey, little man."

Toby let out a squeak and ran at Lestrade, rubbing his face against the man's leg affectionately. Lestrade scratched under the cat's chin and muttered, "I've missed you, little buddy."

Molly frowned and walked away to the spare bedroom in the back of the apartment. Her mother followed her quickly. She shut the door behind her and said, "Do you still fancy him?"

Molly didn't answer her mother; instead, she pulled out her suitcases from under the bed and began to pack up her clothes. Eleanor sighed and folded Molly's clothes for her. Molly smiled at her mother and they filled the suitcases in silence. There was a knock on the door when they were nearly done. Lestrade opened it without invitation and both women were saddened to find that he was dressed, in jeans and an old t-shirt.

Mrs. Hooper muttered, "If you don't date him, I will."

"Mum!" Molly chastised in a whisper. "I'm with Sherlock, remember?"

"Whatever you say, dear." Mrs. Hooper said.

Lestrade heard none of their conversation, they were speaking too quiet. He asked, "Do you ladies need help with the suitcases?"

"Yes, please. I'm giving them some boxes of stuff: some mugs, some stuff from Mr. Hooper, etcetera. So we have a lot to take up those stairs." Mrs. Hooper said, smiling at Lestrade.

Lestrade smiled back at her and picked up the finished suitcases. He carried them out of the room. There were four in total when they were finished. Molly tried coaxing Toby into his cage but only Lestrade could get him in without a fight. Mrs. Hooper commented as they exited Lestrade's flat, "Toby really likes you."

"Yes, well I stayed with Molly right after splitting with my wife so I spent a lot of time with him." Lestrade said, carrying the two heaviest suitcases. Molly had the other two and Mrs. Hooper had Toby's carrier. Eleanor Hooper thought, _I know_...

They arrived at 221B and Lestrade began to heave the suitcases up the stairs, one at a time as they were full and quite heavy and the stairs were too tight for him to even attempt more than one. Molly worked on unpacking them as he brought them up. Mrs. Hooper spent her time in Mrs. Hudson's flat, talking with the landlady about Sherlock and his relationship with Molly.

Lestrade was about to take up the last suitcase when he was hit from behind by a hard object near Mrs. Hooper's car. He blacked-out instantly.


	4. Trigger Happy

**To be read as a companion to Chapter 19 of**_**Stealing a Consulting Detective's Heart.**_

* * *

Lestrade was disoriented when he awoke blindfolded in a mysterious place. He coughed at the gag in his mouth but found that it was taped in. He pulled at his arms and legs but found them locked in place. All he could do was listen. He could hear struggles from several others. And then, he heard footsteps. Two sets by the sound of it. They made their way down the row – yes, there seemed to be a row of them. Lestrade could tell by their footfalls and how they went in a straight line perpendicular to him, coming towards him. They stopped at each person. Five stops before they made it to him. He was on one end.

They hadn't talked with the others. But they said something to him. "They're nearly here. Your lover and your boyfriend's brother. How awkward for you." Then, they were gone, walking quickly away.

That voice. Of course he knew that voice. James Moriarty. But who was the other man?

It didn't take long before there were quiet, timid footsteps nearly a hundred meters away. All of a sudden, one person started running then the other followed thirty seconds later.

Hands were on his face, feminine hands, hands he knew. His blindfold lifted and he didn't open his eyes right away, it would have hurt too much. He slowly lifted his lids and it still hurt like hell. He blinked several times and allowed his eyes to adjust - they focused on Molly Hooper. He would have smiled if he could have. He would have hugged her if he could have. Both would have to wait. One of her hands turned to his mouth while the other remained on his cheek. She slowly removed the tape; he could feel the skin been pulled off with each passing second - it was worse than removing the blindfold. She pulled the gag out of his mouth and he said, "I'd rather you have pulled it off quickly."

She smiled halfheartedly. After a moment, she said, "Next time you get kidnapped and I have the occasion to remove tape from your mouth, I'll rip it off as quick as I can."

"Thank you. And I'm glad to see you." He replied, smiling. Molly beamed at him, warming his heart considerably. She snapped out of her reverie and untied his feet and hands. Lestrade stood and pulled her into the tightest hug he could muster. He was here because of her but she would have come anyway because of Sherlock; he was glad that he was here, so he could protect her from harm. Molly's arms wrapped around him and she rested her head against his chest. Lestrade smiled to himself and placed his head on top of hers. Dimmock looked at him and raised his eyebrow, giving him a questioning stare. Lestrade rolled his eyes at Dimmock and jerked his head with as little motion as possible so Dimmock would get the hint. The other DI went and began to release the other hostages.

A voice behind Lestrade spoke, "Molly?"

Lestrade released Molly quickly and she looked at the one who had spoken. She said, "Tom." Lestrade watched as she ran over to her former fiancé and tried to hug him. It was almost a small victory for Lestrade when Tom shied away from Molly, denying her a hug. Molly asked, "What's wrong?"

"I thought you were going with Sherlock now? What's going on with you and Greg?" Tom seemed genuinely upset. Lestrade didn't blame him; although, he and Molly were just friends, for now. _Blimey…_Lestrade thought. Was that really how he felt? What about Mycroft?

"Time and place, Tom." Sherlock said, striding over with a pace that only Sherlock was ever able to obtain. He was right – _time and place_.

"Where have you been?" Molly asked, turning to him.

"Looking around." He replied, simply.

"And what did you find?" Lestrade asked, rubbing his wrists where they had been tied up. He decided to forget about everything that his mind was questioning.

"You won't like it."

"Why?" What an odd response.

"Oh Gregory, you know exactly why." A chill ran through Lestrade's spine. The voice that had whispered to him when he was blind, voiceless, and immobile. He looked up and saw Moriarty and another man standing on the balcony. "He found _us_."

"Oh." He instinctively stepped toward Molly.

"Awe, isn't that cute. Sherlock, do you see what's happening? The dear Detective Inspector is about to steal your girlfriend from you right before your eyes."

"That's not happening nor is it of import right now." Sherlock said, hastily. "Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't that obvious, I'm taking everything that you and Ms. Hooper hold dear and I plan to destroy them." Moriarty replied. He and his companion descended the staircase to the main floor.

"And how do you plan to do that?" Sherlock asked.

"With the help of my assistant, Sebastian Moran. While I have the brains, he has – as people would say – the brawn." Moriarty said, looking fondly as his companion next to him. The man was tall, lean, well muscled, and handsome. He could definitely charm his way into doing anything - like robbing a bank or easily kidnapping people.

"So you're Sebastian Moran." Sherlock said, crossing his arms behind his back. He began to pace in front of Moriarty and Moran, who both watched him as he went. The rest of the people in the room stood silently, too afraid to do anything. Molly grabbed onto Lestrade's arm as she watched Sherlock pace in front of the mad men with the gun.

"He'll be fine." Lestrade muttered to Molly, taking her hand in his and squeezing it tight.

As Sherlock continued to converse with Moran, Lestrade studied Moran and Moriarty. The latter wasn't doing much. He was watching the hostages, particularly Lestrade and Molly, although he kept an eye on the other detectives. When Moriarty wasn't looking at his hostages, he was looking at Moran, who was paying very close attention to his gun and very little to those around him although he was holding a full conversation with Sherlock.

Lestrade watched Moran's hands. They caressed the rifle; he ran his finger over the trigger repeatedly. He vaguely heard their conversation but the words "act fast" resonated with him. He watched as Moran raised the rifle to his shoulder, looked through the sight, and squeezed the trigger. He knew the target: _Molly_. The person whose death [in the room] Moran knew would hurt Sherlock the most.

Lestrade didn't even have to think about what it would mean for him. He shoved Molly to the ground and put himself in the path of the bullet. The last thing he saw before the bullet pierced his flesh was Molly Hooper looking up at him in disbelief. Then, he fell backwards.

He was still conscious as he collapsed on the ground. Molly was next to him in an instant with her hands over the wound in his abdomen. He seemed to hear her through water as she said, "Greg, you stay with me!" He felt more pressure on his stomach and knew that she was doing all that she could. But he was surely going to die without medical attention. Unless they apprehended Moriarty and Moran quickly, this would be the end of Gregory Lestrade. That was his last thought before he blacked out. Well, that and Molly Hooper. It was always Molly Hooper.


	5. No One Tells Mycroft

**I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I promise a lengthy Chapter 6 within the week! :) Thank you for bearing with me between my postings. I need to update more frequently but school and work get in the way.**

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Mycroft shoved the doors open and practically ran down the hallway to the waiting room. Sherlock sat there with DIs Dimmock and Gregson and DS Donovan. It had been hours since Lestrade had been shot yet no one had notified Mycroft, not even Sherlock. He had overheard it from a government official in passing who was discussing a development with Moriarty. Sherlock was the first to notice him.

"Brother, what are you doing here?"

"Gregory was shot and no one thought to tell me?" Mycroft said, glaring at the younger Holmes.

"Why would we?" Donovan asked, raising an eyebrow. Mycroft just looked at her with an eyebrow raised. It clicked with Donovan. "Oh. I didn't know…"

"Well, it was one date and it didn't end well because of Sherlock…" Mycroft began but was cut off by his brother.

Sherlock said, "He left my flat last night content with the situation that had arisen between us."

"We actually had an argument about your girlfriend so I shall still blame it all on you." Mycroft said, smugly. He sat down next to his brother, a deep frown etched on his face.

"Well, she may not be my girlfriend and he may not be your almost-boyfriend after Greg wakes." Sherlock mumbled, crossing his arms across his chest.

"And why do you say that?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I told Molly to chose; Greg or me. I said that I wouldn't hold it against her, although I would be devastated."

"Look at how far you've come, Sherlock. Having feelings."

"You should talk; you care for Greg."

"Hmm, yes. I do." Mycroft mumbled. "I do hope that she makes the choice that will leave all of us happy and not just her and Gregory."

Sherlock turned his head to the side. "My, if only Mum and Dad could see us now. Shall we phone them and tell them how domestic we're being?"

"No, we shan't. I think they may have a heart attack or worse, want to come and see us again." Mycroft commented.

"We don't want that." Sherlock said as Mycroft sat down next to him.

"Now what do we do?" He asked, staring down at his hands.

"We can do nothing but wait." Sherlock replied.


End file.
